


All is Fair in Love and War

by Raven_Grey1469



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Grey1469/pseuds/Raven_Grey1469
Summary: After everything he's been through, Stiles can't believe he is still standing. He may be severely messed up in the head and harboring a crush that could possible lead to his throat being ripped out, but he's still alive. With new threats brewing on the horizon, will Stiles be able to work through his trauma, stay alive, and possibly even land the man of his dreams in the process?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and storylines belong to the creators of Teen Wolf. I do not take credit for any of their work.

There’s absolutely nothing that can compare. There is nothing like the feeling of having your own body ripped from your control; Nothing like having to watch people be hurt by your hand. It’s worse than feeling helpless or weak. It’s shattering. It’s something you never come back from. Not really. You smile and laugh and pretend. But behind all of that, behind the mask, you’re being tortured by the past. The already shattered pieces of your soul break apart more and more day by day until there is nothing left but an empty shell of what you once were. 

Stiles knows this feeling all too well.

Three months ago he was taken over. Three months ago he became a murderer. Well, not HIM exactly, but the evil spirit inhabiting his body. But to him, that’s only an excuse. Because he wasn’t strong enough to stop it. He should have been. Instead of giving up he  _ should _ have fought with everything he had. But he didn’t. And that is why all of the death, all of the carnage, is his fault; His responsibility. At least that’s what he thinks. His friends and family wholeheartedly disagree. But they don’t know what it  _ feels  _ like. He does. And he will NEVER forgive himself.

‘It should have been me.’ That’s another thought running rampant through his head as of late. Google has officially diagnosed him with Survivors Guilt:  A condition of persistent mental and emotional stress experienced by someone who has survived an incident in which others died. But Stiles has his doubts. Because it  _ really should have been him. _ He should have taken his own life as soon as he knew something was wrong. He should have stopped it before it was too late. Should, should, should. But he didn’t because he was afraid. He was afraid to die. But so were Allison and Aiden, and everyone else who lost their life because of  _ him _ . 

They didn’t deserve to die. But  _ he  _ did. And he won’t ever let himself forget that.

* * *

**He’s running. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or where he’s been, or even what it is he’s running from. All he knows is that if he stops, it’s over. For everyone.**

**He is met with a sudden resistance, causing him to trip over his feet. He feels icy fingers gripping onto him, holding him in place. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, and, worst of all, he can’t** **_see anything._ ** **What had previously been a dark forest is now an endless expanse of nothingness. He closes his eyes, desperately hoping that when they open again he’ll be met with the sight of haunting treetops and starry skies. He opens his eyes and curses himself for hoping; For believing, even for just a moment, that there is any escape from the abyss which threatens to swallow him whole. Chilling laughter suddenly echoes in his ears. He has no idea where it is coming from, only that it is growing louder and louder, gradually coming to a deafening crescendo. He begins to wonder whether the laughter is truly** **_coming_ ** **from anywhere. Perhaps the maniacal sound is coming from within him, a testament to how far from sanity he has fallen. The laughter stops, the resulting silence making his ears ring. Then he hears them, the whispers, almost too quiet to make out. “Your fault,” they say. Over and over again. Once again the sound grows louder, this time causing his eardrums to rupture painfully, slick blood beginning to run down his face. There is a pressure weighing him down, pressing his back further into the soft ground beneath him. In an instant there is something hovering directly above him, the off-white coloring of it starkly contrasting the obsidian which previously obscured his vision. He is momentarily blinded. But within seconds he regains his sight; He wishes he hadn’t. The figure before him is covered in medical gauze, no doubt hiding a horrific disfigurement beneath it. Because of this, the thing’s face has no discernible features, leaving it void of humanity and unrecognizable to those who have never encountered it before. But he has. He knows what this creature is; What it does; How it thinks. He knows that he has very few moments left, and that these last few moments will be filled with as much misery as the thing looking down at him can produce. He knows that he will die in agony. And the creature pinning him down can see this knowing in his eyes.**

**It smiles at him, and he screams.**

* * *

Stiles wakes up screaming. Yeah, go ahead and say it, he’s heard it all before. “That’s unhealthy, Stiles.”, “You need help, Stiles.”, “Maybe you should talk to someone, Stiles.” Well, Stiles has never accused himself of being particularly healthy anyway, and the idea of talking to someone about it is laughable. Sure, it’ll be great and all, until they come out with the question of, “Why do you think this is happening to you, Stiles.” What is he supposed to do then? Maybe he could say, “You see, I was possessed a little while back; I killed some people, terrorized a hospital, and generally wreaked havoc on the entirety of Beacon Hills. So, yeah, really just a casual Tuesday. And oh, by the way, werewolves are real and, if you were really smart, you’d be living in constant fear of being murdered by the things that go bump in the night. Oh well,  nauczyć się z tym żyć, learn to live with it.” Oh yeah, he’d be back in Eichen House before he could say, “I was just kidding.” Great plan. No, this is something he has to deal with on his own. Besides, he’s used to it by now. On a better note, his father must already be at the station. Otherwise he’d have been in Stiles’ room within seconds, shotgun at the ready, prepared for anything. Yeah, his father’s protective streak had grown to gargantuan proportions ever since the, uh… incident. 

It’s been three months since the whole fiasco with the nogitsune and Stiles couldn’t be happier. He’s a senior now, which is one hell of an accomplishment for a human that spends his free time fighting monsters with a werewolf pack. Yes, he knows his life choices are questionable at best, it’s a staple part of his personality. He also has a decent group of friends. He says that as if he has any room to complain, but the reality is that he didn’t think he’d have  _ any _ other friends besides Scott until he was old enough to need a death buddy. So, to sum it all up, he’s definitely not complaining. He loves his pack and he would do absolutely anything for them, no questions asked. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he’s not exactly complaining about that either. He and Malia had spoken at length about whether or not they wanted a relationship, but in the end neither of them were ready. Trauma really is a bitch. Well, that and the fact that Stiles isn’t sure whether or not having a  _ girl _ friend is really up his alley these days. His type seems to have shifted quite drastically within the past few months. He no longer daydreams about flawless pale skin, green eyes, and strawberry blonde hair. Instead he finds himself thinking about a certain grumpy werewolf face with a light dusting of facial hair, a body to be worshipped by the gods themselves, and- No, he’s stopping that train before it even leaves the station. He is SO not ready to admit that to himself yet. Anyway, the point is that Stiles has been going through a sexual… something (Crisis? Awakening? Whatever you want to call it) and every day it seems clearer and clearer to him that he’s actually gay. I mean, if he thinks about it, he’s only ever had eyes for Lydia Martin, which is decidedly strange in and of itself, and the more he looks into it the more he’s convinced that he never actually felt any physical attraction toward her. He’s realized that he was in love with the idea of Lydia Martin, not actually in love with her. But he has plenty of time to think about all of that. After all, there has been no sign of supernatural activity since his friends had banished the nogitsune from his body. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the skies predict smooth sailing from here on out. As his mother used to say, “ Nie daj się podejrzewać dobrego dnia. Żyjesz tylko z tego powodu.” From Polish that roughly translates to, “Don’t be suspicious of a good day. You’ll only live to regret it.” 

Stiles takes a minute to slow his rapid heartbeat before rolling out of bed with a dramatic groan. “I fucking hate mondays.” He mutters to himself, completely accepting the fact that today is going to  _ suck _ . He has three tests today.  _ THREE OF THEM. _ ‘Just kill me now. Seriously, strike me down where I stand. Forgive me god for I  _ will _ sin.’

He pulls himself off of the floor where he had fallen. Yes, for him ‘rolling out of bed’ legitimately means rolling off of his bed onto the floor and hoping to the gods that he doesn’t break anything. He is  _ that _ dramatic. After he gets his bearings he stretches, hearing his shoulders pop, and meanders his way toward the bathroom to relieve himself and start his day. 

Once he returns to his room, he digs through his drawers, attempting to find appropriate clothing for school. And honestly, how some people can get dressed without going through at least one other wardrobe option, Stiles has  _ no  _ idea. He, himself, tends to have a problem with whether or not his shirts send the “right message” as Coach Finstock has so elegantly put it. And honestly, it’s not  _ his _ fault that not everyone appreciates his amazing sense of humor. He pulls out one of his shirts and grins. The front of this particular shirt says, “I’m not always a dick. Just kidding, go fuck yourself” on the front in big, bolded letters. His father had bought it for him a few months back when he had gone out of town for some sort of conference pertaining to law enforcement. Unfortunately, Stiles had not found the chance to wear it, the shirt being a perfect example of the “right message” bullshit Finstock has been preaching to him. He places the shirt back in the drawer, unfolded of course. He’s a teenager, let him be a slob in peace. He’s the one who’ll ultimately have to pay the piper, after all. 

He finally decides on a plain grey t-shirt paired with a dark red and black flannel, ultimately deciding not to grace the world with his unique sense of humor today. ‘It’s their loss, honestly. I… am hilarious.’ He checks the clock sitting beside his bed and curses. It’s almost 7:00 and Stiles needs to be at school by 7:20. “I guess I’m skipping breakfast. Again.” He laments as he pulls on his jeans and black converse. He grabs a few of his notebooks off of his desk and shoves them into his backpack, zipping it up hurriedly. Once he’s deemed himself presentable and prepared for the day, he grabs the keys to his beloved jeep from the bedside table and rushes out the door. 

Once he finds himself downstairs he realizes that his earlier conclusion of his father not being home had been entirely correct. Another point for Stiles. His dad would be  _ pissed _ if he knew that Stiles was going to be late for school. Stiles exits the house and is met immediately with a raging fire demon, out for blood. Okay, maybe not, but the sun  _ is _ an inconsiderate bitch. Doesn’t it know that Stiles just got out of bed? The least it could do was tone the brightness down a notch… or three. Stiles clambers into his Jeep, putting his school bag in the seat next to him, and starts the ignition. Stiles basks in the sound of the engine purring to life. Fine, maybe less of a purr and more of a rumble, but that is completely beside the point. Every time Stiles hears the sound, he’s bombarded with happy memories of his mother, and that’s all that really matters. His friends could call the vehicle a piece of crap all they wanted, it won’t change how he feels and it sure as hell won’t convince him to buy another car. 

Stiles pulls out of his driveway and begins to make his way toward Beacon Hills High School, a frown on his face. Yeah, he could give Derek a run for his money today in the bad mood department.

‘So help me, if something bad happens today, I am officially losing my shit.’


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles enters the school and parks just as the warning bell rings. “Shit,” he mutters as he swiftly unbuckles and grabs his bag. He tumbles his way out of the car, dropping his keys in the process. Stiles groans. After he kneels down to pick them up he bolts toward the door, hoping to make it to his first class on time. There are a few stragglers left in the hallway, attempting to put off going to class as long as humanly possible. They all stare at Stiles as he runs by. He must look like a mess. The dark circles underneath his eyes are in rare form today, dark and angry looking. His already pale complexion has taken on a sickly pallor due to lack of sleep and stress. Yeah, he may or may not have overplayed the “fine” card in his attempt at normalcy. In reality, he is the farthest from okay he has ever been, including the time right after his mother’s death. But that’s… not the point. Because he’s handling it. Mostly… Shut up. 

Stiles barrels into the classroom at the last possible second, the bell ringing the moment he places both feet firmly inside. 

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Stilinski.” The voice of Stiles' teacher greets him. There is an annoyed lilt to Mr. Yukimura’s voice that sets Stiles on edge. 

Stiles, being the snarky and sarcastic teenager he is, prepares for battle. He opens his mouth, ready to verbally crush this teacher’s dreams and aspirations, but shuts it quickly when he sees the worried face of Scott McCall looking at him from the second row of desks. There’s an empty seat next to him. ‘He saved my seat.’ Stiles deflates.

“I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again, sir,” Stiles replies respectfully. Don’t worry, he’s just as shocked as you are. Respect has never really been his strong suit. 

“If only I could believe that, Stiles. Take a seat,” Ken Yukimura, Stiles’ history teacher, gestures into the classroom.

Stiles feels his previously discarded anger boil to the surface once more, raging beneath his skin. Once again he calms himself. His dad would decidedly  _ not _ be happy if Stiles came home with another detention slip. He takes his seat next to Scott and shuts his mouth. He doesn’t trust his brain-to-mouth filter on the best of days. He figures that, in this particular case, shutting up will do him a world of good.

He has this class with Scott and Kira. Usually, he is grateful for their presence; Anything to distract him from the boring lectures. It's nothing against Mr. Yukimura, history just isn't Stiles' thing. If the class delved into the topic of ancient mythology then he might be able to keep his attention from wandering.. Ever since the nogitsune, his ADHD has been getting progressively worse. At this point, even topics that interest him barely keep his attention, and if they do, it’s not for very long. ‘Shit. I have no idea what Mr. Yukimura just said.’ Case and point. Stiles attempts to tune back in to the lecture. 

“...decided to talk about our own town’s history today.” Stiles is immediately interested in what Mr. Yukimura is saying. The history of Beacon Hills could very well mean the difference between life and death when it comes to the supernatural. Furthermore, most of the information he acquired in his general search were things he already knew, and not exactly helpful to a werewolf pack. 

“Any questions before we get started?” Mr. Yukimura addresses the class.

Yes, Stiles most certainly has questions, but unfortunately none that can be addressed in class where everyone can hear.

Mr. Yukimura begins his lecture. “The earliest known history of Beacon Hills dates back to World War II. During this time the town was home to an internment camp called Camp Oak Creek. The camp’s sole purpose was to imprison Japanese immigrants and Japanese-Americans after the attack on Pearl Harbor. The camp was located near Eichen House, which is now used as a mental health facility, as I’m sure most of you know. However, Eichen House was not only used for this purpose. Originally it was used as a field hospital for the internees and the soldiers who ran the hospital and internment camp.”

Mr. Yukimura pauses briefly, most likely trying to decide where to go next. Stiles, having already heard most of this story, is having a difficult time paying attention. He does succeed in maintaining his focus, still interested in the topic, hoping to catch some details that had not already been explained to him. 

“In 1943 it was revealed that the doctors tending to the camp, along with several members of the Army Military Police had been stealing medication that was meant for the internees. This theft of medication resulted in a handful of deaths due to a pneumonia outbreak and ultimately led to a violent riot. The riot quickly devolved into a firefight; The soldiers killed dozens of internees along with one of their own soldiers. Unfortunately, this tragedy was covered up by the United States government.”

One of the students raises their hand and Mr. Yukimura quickly calls on her. 

“If it was covered up by the government, how do you know about it?,” the girl asks.

“I actually have an ancestor which was interned in Camp Oak Creek during this time. This ancestor, Noshiko Yukimura, survived the riot and shared the story with her children, which subsequently led to the story being passed down through every generation of my family. There is actually a legend about this camp. It was said that in 1943 a series of unusual deaths occurred, all committed in the dead of night. What was unusual about these deaths was the manner in which the victims died. They were all eaten alive.”

A morbid air seems to fill the room, setting everyone on edge. 

“Another strange detail about this event is that the same thing occurs every ten years. For a few months each year, people turn up dead, having been cannibalized.”

Mr. Yukimura’s words ring in the air. Suddenly the dismissal bell rings, startling the students. Everyone takes a brief moment to collect themselves, gathering up their things soon after, no doubt thinking about what Mr. Yukimura revealed to them. However, Stiles, Scott, and Kira stay behind.

“Why did you tell us that? Whatever devoured those people wasn’t human, was it.” Stiles states this, almost positive of Mr. Yukimura’s ulterior motive. 

“I’m afraid so, Stiles. The culprit has never been apprehended, or even seen, but I am sure that the murders are supernatural in nature.” Mr. Yukimura replies, a gloomy look on his face.

“Why did you never tell me?” Kira asks her father, the question tainted with anger. “We could have done something to prepare. Now we’re going to have to jump into the situation with no idea what we’re dealing with.”

“I was hoping to spare you from this life, Kira. When it became evident that this was impossible I should have told you. But I was selfish and hopeful. I prayed that somehow you would be able to leave this life behind. I see now that you cannot. You are a part of something greater now, Kira. That is why I chose to tell you and your friends.” Mr. Yukimura sighs and runs his hand across his face. “If there is anyone able to stop this, it’s your pack. You need to speak to you alpha and inform him of this new threat. If you have any questions on the matter, you are welcome to ask. Just know that I do not know much more than I have already told you.”

The tardy bell rings, officially making the teens late for their next class. 

“Don’t worry about being tardy. I will write you a pass to get into your classes.” Mr. Yukimura walks over to his desk and pulls out a pen along with three slips of paper. Once he finishes writing the passes he hands them to each of the teens, and without a word they leave the room, dreading the days to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who are reading this story. As I said in the previous chapter, there is no specific update schedule but I will try to keep up with this story. As usual, reviews are welcome and if you find any mistakes just let me know.   
> -Raven_Grey1469


	3. Chapter 3

Once the school day is over, Stiles goes home and collapses onto his bed, thoroughly exhausted. He just cannot get Mr. Yukimura’s dire warning out of his head. It’s infuriating. Stiles is already behind on his school work, and adding another supernatural threat will not do him any favors. Don’t they know that Stiles is on vacation? ‘Honestly, what does a guy have to do to get a break around here?’ His phone buzzes from the nightstand, alerting him to a new message. It’s from Derek; Stiles feels his heart stutter. “Traitor.” He verbally reprimands the vital organ and then proceeds to open and read the message.

_ Derek: Pack meeting @ 7:00. If yur late I will rip yur throat out w/ my teeth _

‘Does he have any other threats? Because I’ve basically become desensitized to the idea of having my throat ripped out.’ Stiles sighs and then writes out a reply.

_ Stiles: Chill out sourwolf. I’ll be there. _

A few moments later he receives a reply.

_ Derek: Don’t call me that. _

Stiles laughs; He realizes that Derek seems to be the only person who can truly make him laugh anymore. Not even Scott can fully pull him out of his funk. ‘It’s the look in his eyes,’ Stiles thinks, ‘When he looks at me, all he sees is the demon that killed his friends and ruined his life.’ Yeah, consider the mood thoroughly killed. 

Stiles groans and looks to his clock, trying to decide if an attempt at sleep was worth it or not. The digital clock reads 3:27 pm. He doesn’t need to be at Derek’s loft until 7:00, so he has plenty of time to take a nap. He takes off his shoes and lays down after setting an alarm on his phone for 6:00, hoping to rejuvenate himself enough so he can actually be useful during the meeting. Stiles doubts that he’ll be able to fall asleep, however, as soon as his head hits the pillow he is passed out, gradually relaxing as sleep overtakes him. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Stiles doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is that it’s dark, and cold, and damp. There is only one lightsource in the room. A small candle valiantly cutting through the darkness. Stiles stands on shaky legs and approaches it, hoping to find warmth. As he approaches, the candle’s flame grows, as if it is reacting to his presence. When he reaches the candle, the flame flares up, revealing someone or something crouched in the corner of the room. During the next few seconds Stiles heart rate increases dramatically, making his head spin. He loses his equilibrium and crashes to the floor. As his hand hits the ground to break his fall, he realizes that the ground beneath him consists of damp soil. Stiles freezes; He knows where he is._ **

**_‘No. No, no, no, no. Fuck. I can’t be here.’ Stiles internal mantra quickly becomes external. He yells, “I can’t fucking be here. Please, just let me out.”_ **

**_“It’s no use.” A voice rasps from the corner where Stiles had previously seen the hunched figure. “No one can hear you. But you’re used to that aren’t you, Stiles.”_ **

**_Stiles doesn’t know if it’s the voice, or merely the way that_ ** **thing** **_says his name, but he knows that voice. It’s a voice that he will_ ** **never** **_forget. ‘Till death do us part.’ Stiles lets out a manic laugh at the thought._ **

**_“How can you be here? You shouldn’t be able to fucking be here.” Stiles hisses at the wretched creature, voice both scared and demanding._ **

**_It laughs, the vocalization sending shivers of pure terror along Stiles’ spine. He hears a rustling noise and opens his eyes (he doesn’t remember closing them) to see It standing, slowly sliding It’s way up the wall, growing to its full height. The only two things Stiles sees is a bandaged face and a horrifying smirk before the candle flickers out, leaving him in complete darkness. Stiles can only hear the sound of his own breathing and the wild banging of his heart in his ears. He holds his breath, trying to listen for footsteps, anything to indicate where It could be._ **

**_The candle suddenly flares back to life and Stiles swears that his heart stops beating for a moment._ **

**_“BOO!” It is standing right in front of him, It’s covered face cast in shadows from the flame’s soft, orange light. Stiles can’t think; He can’t breathe. It’s as if the entire world has stopped turning, leaving only him and the foul beast that stands before him. It grins, showing Its shark-like teeth. If Stiles was in his right mind, he would have referred the thing to a good dentist, because that… that’s just downright ugly. But, as it is, Stiles is most definitely_ ** **not** **_in his right mind. He had lost his sanity five miles back, thank you very much._ **

**_“What are you so afraid of, Stiles.” It purrs his name, making Stiles flinch. “I’m you, after all.”_ **

**_Suddenly Stiles' world comes back into focus and he finds himself gulping air into his lungs greedily. “No. I am_ ** **nothing** **_like you.”_ **

**_“Are you sure?” The creature reaches to Its face with one of Its bandaged hands, beginning to pull at the covering. It unravels at an agonizingly slow pace, first revealing unruly dark brown hair, then a pale forehead. When the bandage is removed completely, exposing the face underneath, Stiles can’t believe what he sees. It’s as if he’s standing in front of a mirror. Whiskey colored eyes,_ ** **Stiles’** **_eyes, staring at him with a cruel intensity._ **

**_It begins to speak, Stiles’ voice coming out of Its mouth. “You can deny it all you want, Stiles. But, in the end, you’ll find that you’re just like me. The sooner you accept it, the sooner the fun begins.” It grins, eyes crazed and bloodthirsty. It throws back It’s head and hysterical laughter cuts through the dense silence. It stops, lowering Its gaze to stare at Stiles one last time before charging at him. The last thing Stiles sees before he is consumed by the darkness is two whiskey colored eyes taunting him, ensuring that he will_ ** **never** **_forget._ **

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles jerks awake, shaking and sweaty. “Fucking nightmares.” he swears under his breath. So much for getting sleep. He looks at the clock and sees that it’s 5:57. He cancels the alarm on his phone and gets out of bed, his socked feet hitting the floor a bit harder than he’d like. Since he has a bit of extra time he decides to do some research on the creature they're supposedly looking for.

Stiles sits at his computer, opening a new browser. He’s looking for a total of twenty minutes before he gives up. He just doesn’t have enough information on the subject to form a decent theory. The closest thing he can find is a Wendigo, but that doesn’t explain why it disappears for ten years before striking again. Stiles groans and pulls at his hair in frustration.

Stiles gets up and gathers his keys from where he’d thrown them earlier. He goes downstairs to find his father sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. ‘I guess he must have gotten home while I was asleep.’ 

“Hey dad.” Stiles greets his father cheerfully, hoping to cover up his previous distress and frustration.

“Hey, how was school?”

“It was… eventful?” Stiles doesn’t exactly know how to describe it.

“Care to elaborate?” His father questions with his eyebrow raised, having set his paper down to look at his son.

“I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that one, pops.” Stiles starts walking to the door briskly.

“Woah, woah, woah. Not so fast. Did something happen? Is everyone okay?” Stiles father stands and walks over to Stiles, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s less of  _ what  _ happened and more of what  _ will _ happen. It’s just… I can’t explain right now, dad. I’ll let you know as soon as I know, I promise.” Stiles gives his father what he hopes is a reassuring look before shaking off his father’s hand and walking out of the house. 

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, kid.” The sheriff watches his son leave, his imagination running rampant with gruesome possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. Like I said, there is no set update schedule. I am going to try to be better at keeping up with this though. Thank you to those who are reading and leaving kudos. As a new writer, I really appreciate it. Thank you again!  
> Raven_Grey1469


	4. Chapter 4

Despite his best efforts, Stiles arrives at the pack meeting 20 minutes late. His Jeep had broken down 3 miles away from Derek’s loft. So Stiles had pulled out his trusty duct tape and worked his magic. Eventually he heard the engine rumble back to life and he continued on his way. So, in actuality, it wasn’t his fault. Not that Derek will see it that way. 

Stiles pauses at the door, hesitant and fidgety, steeling himself for Derek’s reaction. He opens the door and is met with five pairs of eyes staring at him. ‘This  _ has _ to be coordinated,’ Stiles thinks fleetingly. The pack had no doubt heard him pull into the driveway, after which they must have begun plotting and discussing how they were going to make this situation as uncomfortable as possible for Stiles. Stiles snickers at the thought. Stiles, being lost in thought, has apparently missed something because when he looks up again he is faced with Derek Hale, red eyed and snarling. A breathless, “Oh shit” escapes from his brain-to-mouth filter which, let's be honest, is not really an unusual occurrence.

“I told you not to be late.” Derek says abruptly.

“Yeah, I know. But, it isn’t my fault this time.” Stiles honestly hates the fact that he has to put a ‘this time’ into that sentence. But hey, he wanders… a lot. It’s a part of his charm. He continues to defend himself, “My Jeep broke down and-”

He is cut off by Derek grabbing him roughly. “Dude! Shirt. Seriously? Do you have some sort of desperate need to ruin all of my shirts or something? Because it seems like every time we see each other your claws come out and you get all grabby and when you let go, tada, another shirt with fucking claw-marks all over it.” Stiles yelps when Derek growls at him, realizing what he just said. “That definitely could have been phrased better. Just imagine that I said something a little less suggestive and a lot more threatening. Also just forget about the weird ass noise that just came out of my mouth because that sooo does not match the vibe I am trying to put off and-”

Derek puts his hand over Stiles’ mouth, putting a stop to his rambling. Derek brow furrows as he seems to struggle with what to say. “Stiles… We were  _ worried _ . The others had filled me in on the situation before you got here and when you didn’t show up I was afraid that you were…” He trails off, almost as if he’s not willing to say what he had been thinking. Stiles’ eyes widen as he realizes that Derek wasn’t actually angry with him for being late but actually worried about his well-being. The thought makes his heart flutter and his stomach flop in a completely unnatural way that he has learned to directly associate with Derek Hale. 

“It’s okay, Derek. I’m okay. Really.” Stiles replies, voice soft. The red slowly bleeds away from the alpha’s eyes, returning them to their natural color. He lets go of Stiles, backing away slightly, and Stiles finds that he misses Derek’s touch. ‘Man, I am so utterly fucked.’

Without breaking eye contact, Derek murmurs, “Good. I can’t… I mean the  _ pack _ can’t lose you. You’re important.” Derek’s eyes finally stray from Stiles’ eyes and Stiles finds that he misses that too. Stiles takes a moment to thank his brain for royally screwing him over.

“Watch out, big guy. Your emotions are showing.” Stiles definitely did  _ not _ mean to say that. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he hears Derek chuckle. Yes, you heard right, Derek-freakin-Hale  _ laughed _ . Stiles briefly wonders if he has been pulled into an alternate universe where Derek Hale actually has a sense of humor. He shakes his head, deeming the thought absolutely ridiculous. 

Someone coughs, breaking the silence and snapping Derek and Stiles back to reality. “Right. Let’s do this shit.” Stiles claps his hand together and walks further into the room, sitting next to Lydia on the big couch located in the center of the room. 

“So, where were we?” Derek addresses the room.

“Scott was just saying that we need to figure out what this thing is before we do anything about it.” Lydia remarks dully, seeming to be more interested in her well manicured nails than the conversation. 

“Right. Stiles and Lydia are on research duty while the rest of us will patrol the area in pairs every night. If nothing unusual happens we will meet again in a week. If something does happen, we’ll get together and set up a game plan.” Derek says in his big bad I am the alpha voice(Yes, it is a thing that he does. Stiles could swear by it). By the end, even Lydia’s attention is completely focused on Derek, who is standing a few feet from the couch Stiles and Lydia are occupying. “For those patrolling, I’ll text you the schedule. Scott and Kira will be one group and Malia and I will be the other. Any questions?” Derek pauses before continuing, “Good.”

Everyone begins filing out a few moments later, having collected their things and said their goodbyes. Stiles is about to leave when Derek stops him, “Stiles, could you stay for a minute?” 

‘Is Derek actually  _ asking _ me to do something? Usually it’s just “Do this or else”. Maybe I have stepped into an alternate universe.’ Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, which would no doubt get him thrown out of the loft ass first, he turns his brain-to-mouth filter on - for all that’s worth - and says, “Yeah, sure.” 

Stiles steps further into the loft and faces Derek saying, “What’s up dude?”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’.” Derek frowns.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to call you then? I can’t call you ‘sourwolf’; I can’t call you ‘dude’. From where I’m standing, I have a long-ass list of Can’ts. So what should I call you? Oh Alpha, my Alpha? Because if I do that, I’m gonna be hella dramatic about it and you are going to hate me even more than you do now and honestly I-”

“I don’t hate you.”

Stiles blanches, “What?”

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.” Derek looks at the floor nervously.

“You sure do have a fun and inventive way of showing that.” Stiles mutters, trying to keep his heartbeat under control because currently his heart is beating a mile a minute and, well, werewolf hearing is a bitch. 

“I know. I just… I was  _ worried _ tonight, Stiles. When you didn’t show up, all I could think about is you dead, lying in a ditch somewhere. And you’re right. I don’t act like I care. I’m an asshole and I’m bad with words so I don’t know how to express the way I’m feeling. But tonight, when you weren’t here, I was so afraid that I would never see you again. When you walked in I decided that I had to at least  _ tell _ you.” Derek pauses and takes a deep breath, somehow saying all of that without actually breathing. He exhales sharply and looks up at Stiles, making eye contact. “I like you, Stiles. And I know that you don’t feel the same way. And I can live with that. I just need you to know that I don’t hate you.”

With these last few sentences, Stiles’ world stops turning. “What did you just say? Because, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then I am either dead or the world has finally decided to throw something good at me for a change. Which is highly unlikely given my current track record but-” Stiles stops speaking, because suddenly Derek’s lips are lightly touching his. You know how they say that when you kiss the right person there are fireworks and everything is bright and happy? This isn’t like that. It’s better. When Stiles felt Derek’s lips on his something clicked into place. It’s as if Stiles has found a part of himself that he didn’t even know was missing. But, now that he’s found it, he  _ can’t _ live without it. 

Derek pulls away, far too soon if you were to ask for Stiles’ opinion on the matter. Derek blushes, which is a thing that Stiles didn’t think he was even capable of doing, and looks down at his feet. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought…”

Stiles pulls Derek toward him and kisses him again, just as softly as the time before. He pulls away whispering, “Don’t apologize, Der. I wanted you too.”

The two smile at each other. 

  
This is the first time Stiles has  _ ever _ seen him smile, and he decides, in that moment, that it's the most amazing thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always like to improve my writing so if anyone has any tips or recommendations I would be love to here them. Thank you!  
> Raven_Grey1469


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles is still in shock. Derek Hale kissed him. He kissed Derek Hale. The world hasn’t ended, nothing is on fire, and the Earth still orbits the Sun. Everything is normal, barring the fact that Stiles is now  _ dating Derek Hale. _

It’s Thursday night, and Stiles is sitting in his Jeep in front of Derek’s building. He’s been trying(And failing, I might add) to talk himself into walking up to and knocking on Derek’s front door for the past 20 minutes. Not for some random surprise visit, but because they had a date. Their  _ first _ date. Derek had even switched off his patrol, leaving Kira and Scott to search for their unknown supernatural threat. So yeah, it’s a big deal. ‘See? This is why people leave early. Always gotta add a mental breakdown buffer.’ 

There is an abrupt tap on Stiles’ window, sending Stiles careening about fifty feet in the air. Fine, maybe it was more like two feet, but honestly. He’s not a cat. Two feet for him is a serious injury waiting to happen. Stiles turns to his left, toward the tapping, and is met with Derek’s famous eyebrow raise. The only difference is that, this time, he’s smirking at Stiles in amusement. Stiles is NOT amused. He gives Derek the finger because, as anyone can tell you, when it comes to relationships communication is key. Derek rolls his eyes(See, more communication) and signals for Stiles to open the door. Stiles’ mouth forms into a comical o-shape, having completely forgotten that he was in a  _ car _ with  _ doors _ that he’s supposed to  _ open _ when he’s trying to Life successfully.

Derek steps aside as Stiles opens the door and exits the vehicle. Stiles' feet have barely hit the ground when Derek pulls him roughly into his arms, putting his nose in Stiles’ hair and inhaling deeply. Stiles melts into the touch, enjoying the love and affection currently radiating off of Derek in waves. That may sound cheesy, but it’s true. Stiles can literally  _ feel _ the amount of joy that Derek is feeling. It sends Stiles’ heart fluttering and starts his skin tingling. He’s been able to pick up on things like this ever since the night of the pack meeting. It’s almost as if a bond had been formed once their lips had touched, uniting them as one. Stiles hadn’t truly realized this until a few days ago when he had felt a stabbing panic rip through his body telling him that something was wrong with Derek. Stiles quickly excused himself from class and ran outside, fumbling for his phone. He presses the call button for Derek’s contact and waits for an answer, each dial tone reinforcing the cold feeling that had been pooling in his stomach. Derek had eventually answered and assured Stiles that he was  _ fine _ . Apparently, the “alarm bells” had gone off because Derek, the idiot, had given himself a papercut. Yes, you heard right. Stiles had sprinted out of class like a madman, probably earning himself a zero on his English test, because his idiot mate had given himself a fucking papercut. As funny as it is in retrospect, at the time Stiles was  _ not  _ laughing. 

This incident had prompted the big “Mates” conversation. Stiles had gone to Dereks, having already screwed himself over in the school department enough for one day, and Derek had explained everything. He explained that he’s known since the first time they had met in the woods. He told Stiles how hard it was for him to ignore him the past few years, which is why he had acted the way he had. Derek told Stiles that a mate bond solidifies when both parties give in to their feelings and how rare it is for a human to reciprocate those feelings in a deep enough way to understand and feel the pull of the mate bond. He explained that the overactive instinct to protect your mate from anything and everything will get better with time and experience, meaning the papercut incident will  _ not  _ become a normal thing. That night they had laughed and cried, kissed and fought, loved and hated, but afterward they had never felt closer to anyone than they had to each other in that moment. 

A mumbled, “I missed you” pulls Stiles from his thoughts, making him hum in agreement. Stiles pulls aways and captures Derek’s lips in a searing kiss. When they stop, Derek’s hands are pulling at Stiles’ hair and their bodies are pressed closely together. They pull apart and Derek takes Stiles’ hand, guiding him through the parking lot and up the stairs to the loft. 

The werewolf drops Stiles’ hand and retreats into the small kitchen area, leaving Stiles to take off his shoes and situate himself on the couch in his designated spot. Stiles takes his phone from his pocket, unlocking it, and making sure that nothing has gone horribly wrong since the last time he’d checked. Nothing had, in case you were wondering. Stiles finds this odd. All week the pack has been expecting something horrible to fall from the sky and kill us all. But nothing has happened. Things have been unbelievably normal on all fronts. After the pack meeting, Stiles had gone home and explained everything to his father, making sure he knew what to look out for, but the Sheriff hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary either. It’s frustrating as all hell.

Stiles puts his phone down as Derek reenters the room carrying two beers and a pizza. He sets them down in front of Stiles and wrings his hands nervously. “I know it isn’t much but…” He trails off.

“I fucking love it.” Stiles reassures. What can he say, he’s not picky. Derek’s there, and that’s all that really matters to him. 

They eat together, talking and laughing throughout the meal. When they finish, Derek picks up the empty pizza box, taking it into the kitchen, while Stiles picks up the two bottles and follows. The whole thing feels… Domestic. In a good way. It feels as if they’ve been together for years and Stiles wonders how he could have ever lived without this feeling. They spend the rest of their evening watching movies. Derek makes the mistake of allowing Stiles control over the remote, so they are watching the old Godzilla movies with commentary. Commentary being Stiles pausing the film to rant at any given moment. Despite how annoying it should be, Derek loves every minute of it.

Around 10:00 Derek gets a call from Scott. He stands, disentangling himself from his sleeping mate, and answers while walking to the kitchen.

“What.” He says this harshly, upset at the interruption. 

_ “Derek, there’s something here. I can smell it. I’m with Kira and there’s… fuck there’s so much blood.”  _ Scott’s voice is shaky and breathless, tainted with fear.

“Shit. Where are you? Send me your location and I’ll get everyone there as soon as possible.”

  
_ “Yeah… O-okay. Just get here fast, Derek. I don’t know if it’s actually go-”  _ Derek hears the phone drop to the ground and the sound of Scott’s predatory growl echoes through the receiver. What he hears next, will linger in his mind for the rest of his life. Kira screams. The blood curdling sound reverberates through the loft, followed by the animalistic snarling of a wolf and the dissonant growl of an unknown creature, making Derek’s eyes bleed crimson as him and his wolf bristle with fear. These arcane sounds last for a few moments before the line goes dead, leaving Derek, and now Stiles who had awoken at the commotion, bathed in silence. Derek is staring at the device nestled in his palm unseeingly, hoping beyond words that Scott and Kira can hold out until their pack, their  _ family _ , can reach them. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you send it?”

“Yes, Derek, I sent it.”

“But did they answer?!”

“No, but they’ll be there. They have to be.”

Derek and Stiles are racing toward Scott and Kira, the camero gleaming beneath the light of the moon. The pair’s harsh conversation has been the only break in the unrelenting silence that has settled over their world. 

The camero screams to a stop, kicking up dirt and mud in the process. Stiles and Derek immediately jump out of the car as Derek shifts, mid stride, into his Alpha form. Derek looks back at Stiles as if to say, “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for the others and fill them in. You go.” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek then grips his shoulder tightly before saying, “And don’t fucking die on me, okay?”

Derek nods and takes off at a run into the forest, disappearing quickly into the inky blackness of the night. Stiles pulls out his phone, checking to see if anyone has responded to his message; There are confirmation texts from Lydia and Malia saying that they’ll be there as soon as they can. Putting his phone away, Stiles begins to pace, worry for his best friend, packmate, and boyfriend finally sinking in fully. He considers running in after Derek-surely the others will be able to make their way to them on their own-but decides against it, opting instead to pace the length of Derek’s car. His worry mounts with every passing second as Kira’s deathly scream echoes in his mind, overwhelming him. He feels his breath quicken, panic racing through his veins like electricity. His fingers begin to tingle and his face feels numb as he hyperventilates, succumbing to a panic attack. ‘What if they’re all dead by the time we get there? What if I'm leading the rest of the pack to their deaths too? I just found out that Derek is my mate, I can’t lose him now. And Scott, my best fucking friend. What if I never get to make things right with him?’ Stiles’ thoughts race violently out of control before hearing a voice, whispering from inside his head. It takes him a moment to distinguish the voice as one other than his own through the torrent of thought encompassing his consciousness, but once he finds it the voice rings out, loud and true, rasping through a singular sentence.

“You’ll always be too late, Stiles; Their deaths will be on your hands.” Stiles clutches at his hair, his inner monologue switching from ‘what if’s to ‘go away’s. Suddenly, he feels a wave of comfort roll through his mind, banishing the demon from his thoughts and calming his frayed nerves. ‘Derek.’ He sensed Stiles’ panic and managed to calm him down, no doubt while in the middle of fighting whatever the hell ambushed Scott and Kira. Stiles calms his racing heart and reciprocates the gesture, sending gratitude and reassurance. Stiles opens his eyes as a car is pulling up, the headlights blinding him momentarily. The passenger door opens and Malia steps out with Lydia following soon after. 

“What’s going on? Did something happen?” Lydia walks up to Stiles confidently and questions him. Their eyes meet, Lydia evaluating Stiles’ gaze and determining that something is definitely wrong. “Let’s go, fill us in on the way.” Lydia pulls a handgun from her purse and hands it to Stiles before pulling out another for herself. Stiles takes the gun, tilting his head in confusion. “Snagged them from the safe. Maybe they work, maybe they don’t; It’s better than nothing.” With that, Stiles nods and turns on his heels, walking briskly into the seemingly endless expanse of trees. He doesn’t specifically know the location, but through his mate bond with Derek he is able to guide his packmates toward the fight. 

Once they reach a specific point, the trio can hear the sounds of battle; Growling and other animalistic noises come from the clearing up ahead. Stiles sniffs the air, identifying the scent of pungent blood mixed in with the refreshing smells of the preserve. Malia takes off, pushing past Stiles, and bursts into the clearing while Stiles and Lydia break into a run behind her.

Nothing could have prepared them for what they are seeing. There is blood everywhere, littering the ground and staining the trees crimson. Kira is laying on the far side, blood streaming down her torso from three large gashes. Scott, on the other hand, is lying in the middle of the clearing, unmoving and obviously unconscious. And then there’s Derek. The alpha is standing tall and proud, despite his torn shirt and blood spattered body. He’s standing directly in front of Scott, protecting him from the creature. 

The creature, whatever it is, is hunched over, its long legs curled into a squat while its arms are forward, reaching toward the Alpha. It is muscular with grey skin that looks almost amphibian in nature. Its long claws protrude from spidery fingers, the white blood splattered on them a sharp contrast to the stark white of the bone. The creature has a dome shaped head leading down to a heavy brow protruding from its face and two eyes, glowing a bright white which is accentuated by the darkness. Its nose consists of two slits, one beside the other, and its face seems gaunt, contrasting the rest of its muscular body. But the worst part to Stiles is the teeth. They remind him of the nogitsune, though they are longer and stick out of the creature's mouth. 

The wretched creature lets out a throaty roar, startling Stiles and his companions into action. When the creature lunges at Derek, Malia rushes forward and jumps at it from the side, knocking it off-kilter and sending it careening to the right. Malia jumps off of the creature and heads directly to Derek, defending him as he tends to his wounded beta. When the creature picks itself up and moves in a crouch toward Malia, Derek, and Scott, Stiles and Lydia begin shooting. Their bullets do nothing but slow the thing down, obviously not inflicting much damage. But it’s enough. In the time they have bought, Derek is able to gather Scott in his arms and run him over to where Kira is leaning against a tree, setting him down gently and quickly asking Kira if she’s alright. After receiving a positive response Derek rejoins the fight. Malia and Derek flank the creature while Stiles and Lydia stand in front of it, still shooting and almost out of ammo. Suddenly the creature screeches, making the wolves cover their ears due to the sheer volume of it. While they are distracted the creature turns and runs away, fading from view as he is swallowed by the obsidian night. 

Derek begins to run after it, but Stiles grabs his forearm and says, “Derek, look at me. Let it go. Scott and Kira need you.” Derek is now looking at Stiles, tensing slightly before the red bleeds away from his eyes, returning them to their normal hazel green color. 

“You’re right.” Derek continues looking Stiles in the eye, trying to convey the love he feels for his mate, before finally tearing his gaze away when Scott whimpers. Lydia and Malia, who had been watching this exchange, stand to the side, stunned at the obviously intimate interaction between two people who had previously seemed to hate each other. They snap out of their surprise when Derek briskly walks over to Scott and Kira, kneeling down in front of Scott who is being held by his girlfriend. The rest of the pack crowds around in a protective circle, noting that Scott is still unconscious. 

“You need to put pressure on your wounds; I’ll take Scott.” Derek looks away from the pair and addresses the rest of his pack, “Stiles, you’re riding with me. Lydia and Malia, meet us at Deaton’s.” He picks Scott up in his arms and starts for the car, expecting his pack to follow. Stiles matches his stride, determined to be there for Derek if the need arises. The girls are following behind, supporting Kira between them. As they reach the cars, Lydia clears her throat, gaining everyone’s attention. 

“We’ll figure this out and we’ll kill this son-of-a-bitch.” She says this definitively before turning away and getting into her car with Malia in tow. Derek and Stiles exchange glances before settling Scott in the backseat, his head resting on Kira’s lap, and getting into the car themselves. As Derek puts the keys into the ignition and the engine rumbles to life, Stiles takes Derek’s hand in his, whispering so that only his mate can hear. 

“Lydia’s right. This bitch is going down, one way or another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and subscriptions. As per usual, comments are welcome. I'd love to know if you have any feedback or suggestions. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Raven_Grey1469


	7. Chapter 7

When they arrive at Deaton’s, Lydia and Malia are already there and are waiting outside for Derek, Stiles, Kira, and Scott. As soon as the Camaro comes to an abrupt stop in front of the clinic, Stiles is jumping out and pulling the seat forward to reveal Scott and Kira to Deaton. 

“Get them inside.” Deaton says simply before rushing into the clinic, no doubt to set up a space for Scott and Kira. 

Stiles ushers Kira out of the car, supporting her weight when she stumbles, gently holding onto her shoulders. Stiles feels Derek’s hand on his back and his breath on his neck as he speaks, “Bring Kira inside; I’ve got Scott.” Stiles nods and scurries into the building, still supporting Kira’s weight.

“No, Scott… He…” Kira tries to speak but Stiles shushes her, telling her that Scott will be fine with Derek. Kira is quiet after that, instead concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as they walk through the threshold. 

Deaton emerges from a back room and guides them inside, prompting Stiles to sit Kira down on one of the two long metal tables situated in the middle of the room. Deaton immediately gravitates to her side, asking her various questions about what had happened and where she had been hurt. Stiles leaves them to it, knowing that Lydia and Malia will watch over them. Right now, all Stiles is worried about is his unconscious best friend who had been bleeding all over his boyfriend’s upholstery not five minutes earlier. When he gets outside he sees Derek trying to close the car door with Scott gathered in his arms. Stiles runs over to help, closing the door for Derek and saying, “Go on; I need to call my dad.” Derek nods simply and rushes Scott inside.

Now that he’s alone, Stiles has a moment to take in the gravity of the situation. Something has attacked his pack, almost killing two of his friends in the process. Stiles feels the rage start to boil in his blood, demanding attention. Stiles resists the urge to scream, instead trying to pull the rage out of his body through his hair, which may or may not be scientifically accurate. But at this point Stiles is beyond caring. He sends a quick text to his father, promising to fill him in as soon as he can, and then roughly shoves his phone into his back pocket. 

Back at that clearing, Stiles had felt so useless. There he was, watching his pack being attacked by that creature, and he could do nothing. He was powerless. Stiles isn’t a werewolf, or a Kitsune, or a Banshee. Stiles is  _ human _ . The only asset he has is his ability to shoot a gun and his quick wit. It infuriates him to no end. All he wants is to be of use to the pack; To be able to actually  _ contribute _ . At least when he was possessed he wasn’t useless. ‘Okay, no. Not even going to start to go there.’ Stiles stops himself from further pursuing that train of thought. 

His body is still tingling with fury. The light tingling sensation quickly morphs into a stinging pain that radiates through his limbs and brings him, gasping, to his knees. The pain mounts and is suddenly coupled with a throbbing headache that sends spots dancing in his vision. The wind picks up around him, sending dust into the air. If Stiles’ eyes were open, he would see the small pebbles that had previously been lying on the concrete, floating around him. 

Suddenly, Derek’s voice calls out to Stiles from the entrance of the clinic. Stiles’ eyes open, the pebbles floating around him drop to the ground, and the wind ceases. Stiles stands up shakily, revealing himself to Derek who looks worried. Derek walks briskly to Stiles and embraces him. “I couldn’t see you. I thought that maybe that  _ thing _ came back and took you.” Derek buries his head into Stiles’ hair as Stiles melts into the embrace.

“I’m fine. Just dropped my phone.” Stiles lies, not wanting to worry Derek more. Stiles has no idea what that “episode” was, but he does know that mentioning it would send Derek on a warpath trying to figure it out. Derek needs to be focused; Stiles can figure this one out on his own. “We should go inside.” Stiles pulls away and gives Derek a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and pulling him inside. When they get inside Lydia and Malia are standing outside the room where Scott and Kira are being kept. “Why are we waiting outside?” Stiles tries to open the door but is stopped by Malia’s hand on his arm.

“Deaton said to wait outside.” Malia sounds genuinely worried about Scott and Kira, which in all honesty, is a  _ lot _ of progress. Malia has come such a long way in the past few months and Stiles couldn’t be prouder of his friend. 

“But- You can’t be okay with this. Derek?” Stiles turns to the alpha in shock. 

“I’m not, but Deaton said it was necessary. Something about having no distractions.” Derek sounds tired, weary, and utterly defeated.

“I- Fine.” Stiles turns harshly and sits down on one of the benches heavily, mumbling under his breath. Lydia and Malia take their seats across from Stiles, Lydia kicking Stiles in the shin first. 

“Hey! What the fuck was that for?!” Stiles yells, affronted by the red-heads actions. 

Lydia smirks. “First of all, hush. Second, stop brooding. You’re starting to look like Derek. You even have the eyebrows down.” Lydia scrunches up her eyebrows comically and crosses her eyes, sending Malia into a fit of laughter. Stiles looks at Lydia, then at Derek, then at Lydia again. He promptly loses it, snorting and laughing uncontrollably. Derek crosses his arms and scowls at Lydia’s mocking. When the three begin to calm down, they look at Derek for a moment before being consumed by another fit of laughter.

“Oh my god…” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Lydia… You looked just… just like him.” Stiles is doubled over in his seat, clutching his stomach in his mirth. 

“I know!” Malia huffs out, leaning on Lydia who is red faced and partially falling out of her seat. 

Derek walks over to Stiles and sits next to him, pulling the wriggling teen into his lap and covering his mouth with his hand. Stiles continues giggling like mad and Derek joins in with him. The two girls gain their composure at the sight and give each other knowing looks. “So, how long has this been a thing?” Lydia asks tactfully.

“How long has what been a thing?” Stiles asks, sound muffled due to Derek’s hand over his mouth. Derek groans at Stiles and shushes him softly.

“Not long.” Derek responds to Lydia simply, finally removing his hand from Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sucks in a dramatic breath and opens his mouth to speak. “No.” Derek interrupts whatever Stiles is about to say with a finger to his lips and an intense look. 

“But-”

“No.” Stiles crosses his arms moodily, but makes no effort to remove himself from the alpha’s lap. 

There is a brief silence before Lydia says, “I’m happy for you.” Malia nods awkwardly, offering Stiles a small smile before turning toward the door.

“Deaton’s coming.” Malia says moments before the door opens. 

Everyone perks up at Deaton’s presence, awaiting news on their two pack mates. Deaton sighs and clicks his tongue. “They’re going to be fine.” Everyone in the room gives an audible sigh of relief at Deaton’s statement, feeling a weight lift off of their shoulders. Deaton continues, “Scott’s wounds have started to heal, albeit slower than usual, and Kira’s wounds were superficial. I’d give them both about a week before they’ll be back to normal. You should all go home and get some sleep.” Deaton begins to turn toward Scott and Kira’s room only to be interrupted by Stiles’ hand on his arm.

“Can’t we see them?” Stiles sounds desperate and looks like he’s on the verge of tears. 

“Not tonight. Wait until tomorrow.” Deaton places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder before saying, “Get some rest, Stiles. They’ll still be here in the morning.” 

  
Stiles nods and Deaton retreats into the room, shutting the door softly as he disappears from view. Derek comes up behind Stiles and puts an arm around his waist, resting his head on the younger man’s shoulder in silent reassurance. Stiles leans into Derek, taking a deep breath and composing himself. Right here, right now, Stiles needs to be strong; He needs to be fearless. There isn’t time for a mental breakdown. Stiles turns around and grasps Derek’s hand firmly in his own as his eyes take on a determined glint. He looks at each one of his pack mates, remembering what they’ve been through together. He has never been more sure of anything in his life; He will move heaven and Earth to ensure the safety of his pack and he will fight for them until his dying breath. He finally realizes that it doesn’t matter what he’s done or the mistakes he’s made; He has a family who will love him unconditionally, in failure and success, through happiness and despair. He finally realizes that he is  _ wanted _ , and he will never let himself forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it's been so long since I last posted. I've been having a hard time finding any inspiration to write lately. But, I think that I'm starting to get back into it so I am going to attempt to post a chapter every Wednesday. I can't guarantee a chapter every week, but I am going to work on being more consistent. Thank you to those who have bookmarked, subscribes, and left kudos. I really appreciate it.  
> Much Love,  
> Raven_Grey1469


	8. Chapter 8

The Camaro pulls up to Stiles’ house around midnight. The porch lights are still on meaning Stiles’ dad is still up and waiting for him. Stiles groans and slumps down in his seat. 

“He is going to kill me.” Stiles groans dramatically, which given the current situation, is completely necessary. 

“He’s not going to kill you, dumbass.” Derek takes the keys out of the ignition causing the low rumbling of the engine to cease.

“No, he totally is.” Stiles stops, gasping and jerking forward in his seat, making his seatbelt lock and press painfully against his collarbone. “And he can totally get away with it too! He’s the _sheriff_ , Derek; He knows how to cover up a murder. Oh gods, I am so dead. Jestem taki martwy.” He slumps into his seat once more. 

“First of all, I am completely aware of your father’s job. Second, stop being dramatic, you’re giving me a headache. And third, what language even is that?” Derek turns in his seat to look at Stiles. 

“Polish, but that’s beside the point. We have a very serious situation here that requires your full and undivided attention.” 

“Right. I’ll get right on that.” Derek snarks at his overly dramatic mate, rolling his eyes in the process. 

“Mean.” Stiles responds, crossing his arms petulantly. 

Derek lets loose a put upon sigh. “Just get out of the car. I’ll be right upstairs, waiting to step in and prevent your inevitable demise.” Derek leans across the pouting teen and pops his door open.

“Fine. But if I die, it’s on you.” Stiles huffs and unbuckles his seatbelt, starting to extricate himself from the car. “Wait,” Stiles says before he gets out, “You’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying.” Derek looks down at his hands, his blush not quite hidden by the darkness. “I would never forgive myself if you were hurt because I wasn’t there for you.” Stiles feels a wave of sadness wash over Derek through their bond and he immediately gets back in the car. He leans over and intwines their fingers, using his other hand to turn Derek’s face toward him.

“It will be okay.  _ I’ll _ be okay. But thank you for staying. You make me feel safe, Der. I hope you know that.” Stiles leans his forehead against Derek’s. Though the position is awkward, the side console digging into Stiles' side, he doesn’t mind. He’d do anything for his mate, and if comforting him means feeling a little discomfort, then Stiles is willing to take it in stride. 

“I love you.” Derek whispers, leaning into Stiles' touch and closing his eyes.

“I love you too, moja miłość.”

Derek smiles. “What does that mean?”

“My love.” Stiles replies simply.

Derek blushes once more before kissing Stiles on the tip of his nose and pulling away. “I’m going to park the car down the street. I’ll be in your room waiting for you.”

“You know, in any other situation that sentence would be creepy as fuck.” Stiles teases, exiting the vehicle before Derek can sling back a retort. He watches as Derek pulls away, turning toward his house once the Camaro is out of sight. Stiles takes a deep breath before walking slowly to his front door, pausing for a moment as he reaches for the handle. ‘I can do this.’ Stiles finds his resolve, opening the door and stepping inside. He is met with his father sitting on the couch, staring directly at him, an unimpressed look adorning his features. 

“Have you been sitting there like that all night?” Stiles can’t stop himself from saying something. Which, now that he thinks about it, is probably not a great idea. But whatever, he has never been accused of having any form of self-preservation. So why start now? 

Stiles’ dad sighs. “Are you okay?” 

“That’s… it?” Stiles questions, shocked. John raises an eyebrow at his son’s antics, prompting Stiles to continue. “I mean, you aren’t mad? Because I would totally understand if you were mad, furious even. And I would completely get it if- ”

“Stiles!” The sheriff cuts off his son’s ramblings. “I’m not angry, just worried. You told me what was going on and kept me informed. The only thing I am even slightly upset about is you keeping me in the dark until something bad happened.” 

“Oh.” Stiles is at a loss for words. He walked in the house expecting yelling and threats of murder, not worry and understanding. Granted, Stiles does tend to lean toward the dramatic side when it comes to situations like this, but even a  _ normal _ person would expect some sort of punishment. Running around in the woods with werewolves and battling monsters is not exactly what one would call responsible or safe. And for some reason, parents frown upon that sort of thing. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Stilinski. Take the concern, run for the hills, and hope to the gods that he doesn’t change his mind and ground you for the rest of your life.’

“So, you want to explain now or in the morning?”

“Preferably in the morning; I’m really tired. Unless that was a rhetorical question. In that case I will begrudgingly surrender and-” Stiles is cut off by his father standing and walking over to him. 

The sheriff places his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and says, “Relax, go and get some sleep.” He releases Stiles’ shoulders.

“Yes sir.” Stiles gives his father a mock salute, making him chuckle and roll his eyes, before trudging up the stairs to his room and, hopefully, to his mate. 

He isn’t looking forward to having this conversation with his father. He doesn’t know why, exactly. After all, he’d had the whole “werewolves are real” conversation with him, everything else should be minor league comparatively. It’s just… He hates adding stress to his father’s life. He has enough on his plate already, and adding in all of the supernatural crap seems to be a bit excessive in Stiles’ opinion. But, in the long run, Stiles loves his father, and he’d rather his father be prepared for any situation he may be in than lounging in blissful ignorance, which could ultimately get him killed. Stiles sighs and opens his door, closing it softly behind him and locking it. He hasn’t been able to sleep with his door unlocked since he and Scott had been holed up in the school hiding from Peter Hale. 

Stiles turns around to see a shirtless Derek Hale sitting on his desk chair reading one of Stiles’ various books on werewolf mythology. “You know most of this is grossly inaccurate, right?” Derek flips the page slowly, eyes trailing from left to right as he reads. 

Stiles walks over and snatches the book from Derek’s hands eliciting an indignant squawk from the older male. “Hush.” 

“I was reading that, you know.” Derek drawls, ignoring Stiles’ comment.

Stiles puts the book back in its correct place on the shelf, turning to busy himself with making the bed afterward. He hasn’t directly looked at Derek once since he’s entered the room, which does not go unnoticed by the alpha. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek stands next to Stiles and takes the younger man’s hands in his own, stilling their frantic movements. Stiles turns to look at him with unshed tears in his eyes, making Derek’s wolf whimper pitifully at the sight. Derek immediately pulls Stiles to his chest, cupping the back of his head while Stiles buries his nose into Derek’s collarbone. Derek doesn’t question Stiles further. He can feel the waves of panic, pain, and anger radiating off of his mate through their bond, and his instincts are telling him to hold, and protect, and comfort. Stiles will tell him when he’s ready. For now Derek nuzzles the top of Stiles’ head, relishing the way the boy’s spiky hair tickles his nose. He feels Stiles take a deep, shaky breath before pulling away, just enough to look Derek in the eye while still being snuggly held in Derek’s embrace. Stiles snakes his arms around the wolf’s neck and leans his forehead against Derek’s lovingly, staring deep into his eyes. Stiles kisses his mate sweetly, the kiss becoming more heated as time passes. Derek and Stiles collapse on the bed, limbs intertwined, with their lips still firmly pressed together. After a minute of two longer they pull away, flushed and breathless.

“I love you more than anything, Derek Hale.” Stiles whispers against Derek’s lips, sending his love and adoration through their bond, hoping to properly convey the gravity of his declaration.

Derek reciprocates, pushing their bond further than it’s ever been. Stiles can feel Derek and his wolf, both separately and as one entity. He feels his own essence connect with Derek’s and he finally understands what it is like to love unconditionally, to need someone to such an extent that being physically separated from them is excruciating. Derek feels it too; The need, want, and complete understanding that comes with finding your mate. 

“I love you too, Stiles. With everything I have.” Derek kisses Stiles once more. “We’re both exhausted. We should get some sleep.” Almost as if to prove a point, Stiles stifles a yawn, wholeheartedly agreeing with Derek. 

“Mm, sleep.” 

‘Wow, I didn’t even give an attempt at coherence there, did I.’ 

Derek moves to lay on his back, watching as Stiles takes off his shoes and puts on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Stiles clambers back into the bed and Derek pulls him gently up so his head is laying on his chest. Stiles slumps into the hold and heaves a content sigh. Derek presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head before murmuring, “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“G’night Sourwolf.” Stiles slurs back, quickly falling into oblivion as sleep overtakes him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Much love,   
> Rave_Grey1469


	9. Chapter 9

**There are chains fixed around his ankles and wrists. They are biting into his skin, no doubt leaving bloody cuts on his fragile flesh. There is no sense of time here, in fact, there is no time at all. This world seems to be stuck, fixed in this moment for all of eternity. Perhaps time has been killed by the creature that holds him captive, a muder both literal and metaphorical in nature.**

**Stiles’ arms are suspended in the air, chains hooked to the ceiling above. However, since there is no time, there is no pain. For Stiles’ body is also stuck in a singular moment. The only part of him that seems to move forward is his brain, meaning he can speak, move, think, and talk, but that he can also feel nothing, with the exception of fear. And the fear is all encompassing, bursting from his veins and demanding acknowledgement.**

**Suddenly, a figure emerges from the dark, its daunting shape would usually send shivers down Stiles’ spine, but as it is, Stiles feels nothing physical. One may think that this is better; No racing heart, no sweaty skin. But in actuality, now all of his senses are focused on one thing: Mental panic. Stiles’ mind is on fire and he can’t even focus on his breathing to calm himself down.**

**“Do you like what I’ve created for you, Stiles?” The creature’s voice is instantly recognizable.**

**“F-fuck you.” Stiles’ attempt at snark is feeble at best, his voice conveying his terror.**

**“There’s no time for that kind of attitude, Stiles. There is something we must discuss.” The nogitsune walks up to Stiles and yanks harshly on his chains, wrenching his arms from their sockets. Stiles winces out of principle, but still feels nothing. The nogitsune then takes Stiles’ chin in his hands, forcing the teenager to face him. “You are different, Stiles; You are special. Why do you think I chose you?”**

**“I don’t know.”**

**The nogitsune gives a fang-filled smile. “Because you have something powerful hidden inside of you. Something that’s beginning to surface, thanks to me.”**

**“I will never thank you for anything.” Stiles regains some of his confidence.**

**The nogitsune releases Stiles’ chin and begins to pace. “You will, believe me, you will. You are the only one who can help your friends. The only one who can save them. Isn’t that ironic.”**

**“Wait… How? W-what am I?”**

**“Finally asking the right questions.” The nogitsune ceases his pacing and smirks. “Little one, you are-”**

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles wakes up to Derek hovering over him with a panicked look on his face. His hands are on Stiles’ shoulders, presumably placed there to shake Stiles awake. “Stiles,” Derek whispers, bringing his hand up to Stiles’ cheek and swiping a finger underneath his eye to wipe away the tears. Was he crying? “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Stiles takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He opens his eyes and meets his mate’s gaze hesitantly. Within Derek’s green orbs Stiles sees a glint of anger and disbelief. 

“Stiles,” Derek flops onto his back, “I could’ve helped you. I  _ can  _ help you. Please, just let me in.” Derek takes Stiles’ hand in his, delicately running a finger against the teen’s palm. 

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since Scott was bitten. But they got worse after the nogitsune. I wake up screaming sometimes. Once I woke up with scratch marks all up my arms. I’m afraid of going to sleep, Der. I don’t know what to do.” Derek turns on his side and brings Stiles to his chest in a protective hold. 

“Thank you.” Derek sends reassurance through the mate bond, letting it wash over the younger male. “Next time you have a nightmare, call me. I’ll come, no matter what.” 

Stiles hums and turns so he can nuzzle against Derek’s chest. “I love you, Der.”

“I love you too, Stiles.” 

~~~Time Skip~~~ 

Stiles’ patience is thinning- No, scratch that. Stiles’ patience flew out the window an hour ago, leaving him growling and snarling at his computer screen. Surely his outbursts will get him  _ somewhere  _ with his research. ‘Maybe I’ll find something useful if I scare the computer into submission. Yeah, that might just work…’ Okay, fine. He knows that logically that doesn’t make any sense, but honestly he’s running out of options. He’s been researching since Derek left this morning, trying to find something,  _ anything _ , that could tell them what sort of creature attacked them last night. It is now 3:32 and Stiles is seconds away from saying fuck it and going back to bed. He leans back in his desk chair, stretching his arms over his head. Taking a deep breath, he rights himself and continues searching. 

_ “Banshees are a type of supernatural creature that…” _

‘Nope; We’ve already got one of those and she is way less fugly than you’re making her out to be.’ Stiles considers sending the site to Lydia just to piss her off but decides against it for his own safety. Lydia may not have claws, but she scares him more than the werewolves do nine times out of ten. But on the topic of Lydia, maybe she could help out on the research front. Stiles takes out his phone and sends her a text.

_ Your presence is requested at the Stilinski household. _

She replies in under a minute.

_ I’ll be there soon. And for the record, you’re an idiot. _

_ Aw, such flattery Lyds. _

About ten minutes later Stiles hears a knock on his bedroom door. Lydia enters his room and plops herself down onto Stiles’ bed with a groan. 

“You know, when you knock it is expected that you wait until someone lets you in.”

“Bite me, Stilinski.” Lydia rolls her eyes at him.

“Touche”

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not just for you to annoy me." Lydia crosses her legs and begins inspecting her nails. 

“No; Actually, and as much as it pains me to say this, I need your help. I’ve been trying to figure out what this creature is, but I have literally no leads. I figured that you, being the genius that you obviously are, could help me out.” Stiles decides that flattery is the best tactic in this situation. And to top it all off, he uses the puppy dog eyes. He’s been taking lessons from Scott; Lydia doesn’t stand a chance. 

Lydia sits up straighter, giving Stiles all of her attention. “My help, you say? I warn you, it will come at a price.” The strawberry-blonde smirks playfully, a plan forming in her mind. 

“Name your price.” Stiles returns her smirk. 

“You have to tell me all the juicy details about you and Derek.” Lydia’s smirk turns into a devilish grin as she stares Stiles down.

“She-devil!” Stiles stands, one hand pointing at Lydia and slaps the other to his chest dramatically. “I am scandalized by your devious scheme. This is manipulation, blackmail even! Call my lawyer because this is going to court, bitch!”

Lydia laughs at Stiles’ antics. “First of all, it’s not blackmail. I know you know that. Second, you did say, and I quote, ‘Name your price’ which suggests a willingness to do anything I ask. You walked right into my trap, Stilinski. It’s time to face the consequences.” Stiles simply stares at her, mouth agape. “I do believe this is called ‘checkmate’, sweetheart.” Lydia walks up to Stiles and pats him on the cheek before sitting down in his desk chair, legs crossed and fingers steepled below her chin.

Stiles turns to look at Lydia. “Fine; I give,  _ sweetheart _ .” Stiles copies her term of endearment with a sneer. 

Lydia clicks her tongue. “Cut the attitude. There’s only room for one bitch in this house and my fabulousness gives me seniority. Know your place, peasant.” Stiles breaks out into a grin and pulls Lydia up into a hug.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

Lydia laughs, returning Stiles’ embrace. “Yes, on multiple occasions.” She pauses for a moment, tightening her hold on Stiles. “And for the record, I love you too, dumbass.” 

They break apart and Stiles puts his hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Scott and Kira are going to be okay, right? I just… We haven’t heard from Deaton and I’m worried. I just need someone to tell me it’s going to be okay.” Stiles drops his hand from her shoulder and crosses his arms over his torso. Even if Stiles hadn’t said anything, Lydia can clearly see the anxiety in his body language and she is instantly drawn to comfort her friend. 

“Hey.” Lydia puts her hands on Stiles’ arms, grasping him firmly in an attempt to ground his obviously racing thoughts. “Scott and Kira are strong, they’ll make it. It’s going to be okay, Stiles. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” Lydia sighs and places her arms down at her side. “Now, come on. We have work to do.”

Stiles’ grin returns at the strawberry-blonde’s words. “Hell yeah we do! We’re about to research the fuck out of this bitch!” 

“You are your own brand of special, I hope you know that.” Lydia slaps at Stiles’ arm playfully while pulling up a chair to his desk.

“So I’ve been told. But hey, at least I’m not boring.” Stiles takes a seat next to Lydia and boots up his computer. 

“That you most certainly are not, Stiles.” Lydia fixes her hair into a messy bun and cracks her knuckles in preparation. “Now, let’s do this.”

  
  


  
  



	10. Chapter 10

“So, did you and Lydia get any closer to finding what we’re up against?”

Derek and Stiles are standing in the waiting room at Deaton’s clinic, hoping to talk to Scott and Kira. Deaton had texted Stiles earlier this morning to let him know that they’re both awake and talking, and therefore ready for visitors. 

“Not really. I mean, we know a lot about what it  _ isn’t _ , but that doesn’t really get us anywhere.” Stiles huffs in frustration, leaning against the wall across from Derek. 

“Maybe you need to look at this from a different angle. You may be able to find what you’re missing.” 

“You’re right. I’m just stressed and it’s making it hard to think straight.” Stiles mutters, looking down at his shoes. “I just feel so fucking useless right now.”

“You’re not useless.” Derek walks over to Stiles, putting his arms around the younger man’s waist and pulling him close. Derek brings a hand up to Stiles’ cheek, gently leaning Stiles’ head up so their eyes meet. “You’ll figure this out.”

Stiles leans into Derek’s touch, closing his eyes and enjoying the comfort it brings. He sighs. ‘I know, I-” 

The two pull apart suddenly when they hear a door open down the hall. Deaton walks into the room, smiling softly when he notices the closeness between Derek and Stiles. 

“How are they?” Stiles takes a few steps forward, his tone laced with concern. 

“They’re doing much better. Scott is almost completely healed and Kira isn’t far behind. Would you like to see them?” Deaton steps to the side, gesturing down the hall to the room where Scott and Kira are being kept. 

Stiles looks over at Derek for reassurance, suddenly nervous at the thought of seeing his friends. Derek nods and pushes him forward, whispering a calming “It will be fine” under his breath. Stiles takes a deep breath before slowly following Deaton down the hall. 

Scott and Kira are in the third room down, and with each step he takes Stiles becomes more and more eager to see his friends. When they finally reach the door Deaton stops, giving Stiles a moment to collect himself and his racing thoughts. After this moment, he swings the door open, slowly revealing the excited faces of Scott and Kira. The two are seated on a couch on the far side of the room, both of their gazes fixed on the doorway in which Stiles is standing. Stiles vaguely hears the door shut behind him as he stands in a daze, taking in the bruises on Kira’s face and the bandages around Scott’s torso. 

Finally Scott stands, which seems to break Stiles out of his reverie. One second Stiles is standing by the door and the next his arms are wrapped around his best friend. “Fuck. I was so worried.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Scott returns Stiles’ embrace. 

Stiles pulls away before punching Scott on the arm, earning a grunt of pain from his friend. “Don’t you ever do that again, Scott McCall!”

“Okay, I hear you. No more getting mauled by mysterious creatures in the woods.” Stiles laughs, turning to look at Kira who is smirking at them from the couch. 

Kira gets up, walking over to Stiles and wrapping him in a hug. “I’m really glad you’re okay.” Stiles whispers to her, gripping her tightly in his arms, almost as if he’s trying to make sure that she’s actually here, breathing and alive. Pulling away, he takes a step back to survey his two friends, smiling broadly.

They spend the next hour talking about nothing in particular, Stiles taking the chance to enjoy the company of two people he was worried he’d never see again. Eventually Derek enters the room, joining them in conversation as he sits next to Stiles, wrapping his arm around the younger male and pulling him close. Stiles settles in next to Derek and just listens to the sound of his packmates joy. He’s content. Sure, there’s something out there, something that tried to tear his pack apart, but right now all he can think about is how happy he is to be here. And right now, that’s the only thing that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the short chapter and the EXTREMELY late update. I've been having the hardest time figuring out where to go with this story, but I think I finally have my inspiration back. Thank you to those leaving kudos and comments. I really appreciate the support. As always, constructive criticism and suggestions are completely welcome.  
> Much Love,   
> Raven_Grey1469


	11. Chapter 11

“Stiles, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Stiles is sitting outside the police station in Derek’s Camaro, aptly listening to Derek’s protests about his most recent plan. Okay, maybe “aptly listening” is stretching it a bit, but he really is trying. The only problem is that Derek, the Sourwolf that he is, can’t seem to understand Stiles’ genius. 

“Yes, Der; Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I am willing to bet my entire fortune on it.” Stiles exclaims dramatically as he reaches for the door handle, feeling the car locks click as his hand wraps around the offending item. Even though he knows that Derek’s locked the door, simultaneously keeping him inside the vehicle and stopping him from ending the conversation, Stiles pulls at the handle repeatedly. What can he say? It’s not his fault that whoever had the privilege of creating him decided that three dashes of annoying and one huge handful of dramatic flare was a good idea. Stiles is just as much a victim in this situation as Derek is.

“What fortune?” Derek rolls his eyes. “You have no job, meaning you have  _ no money _ . So unless you’re planning on selling your Pokemon cards I suggest you sit down, shut up, and have a legitimate discussion with me.”

Stiles gasps, “You did not just go there!”

“Yes, actually, I did.” Derek pauses. “You do realize you’re going to have to get rid of them eventually, right?”

“What!? Blasphemy!” Stiles screeches, an affronted look on his face. 

“Stiles you’re- You know what? No. I’m not falling for this again. I am  _ trying  _ to have a serious conversation with you.”

Stiles narrows his eyes before he deflates, sinking down in his seat. “Well, plead your case, Sourwolf.” 

  
  


“I just don’t think we should go in together. We don’t want anyone thinking that-”

“Wait… This is about people finding out about us?” Stiles scrunches his face up into a quizzical expression. 

“I- Yes?” Derek looks down at his fidgety hands, a blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

Well this certainly changes things. Stiles takes a moment to consider how Derek is feeling. Derek and Stiles’ relationship is no secret among the pack, but now that Stiles thinks about it, he hasn’t had the chance to broach the topic with his father yet. Thus, walking into the police station all buddied up with Derek Hale would probably  _ not  _ bode well for the werewolf. Especially since Stiles is expecting his Dad to have a less than favorable reaction. 

“Okay, definitely not what I thought this was about, but you have a fair point. I’ll go in and get the files by myself; I’ll be back in ten.” Stiles begins clambering out of the car after receiving a thankful smile from Derek. He stops and turns half way out of the vehicle, taking a moment to look at Derek. The alpha is partially slumped in the driver’s seat, his left knee brushing the bottom of the steering wheel. Derek's gaze is locked on Stiles’ own and Stiles can’t help but wonder at the unguarded love and admiration he sees within Derek’s hazel irises. Stiles wonders what he’s done to deserve that look, what he’s done to earn Derek’s trust in a way that no one else has. He can’t think of anything off the top of his head, and something in the back of his mind is telling him that he never had to earn these things. Derek is his mate, his  _ life _ . Stiles realizes that the same is true for Derek. There was never a moment where everything clicked. There’s no memory Stiles can dredge up where he remembers  _ deciding _ to trust Derek Hale.  _ He just always has _ . And that thought rattles Stiles to his core, because he doesn’t trust easily. He barely even trusts Scott at this point, so the fact that he has so easily given Derek his trust is unnerving. It’s unnerving how much he  _ needs _ the man sitting next to him. Stiles realizes that he hopes he never has to live in a world without Derek in it, and from the look in Derek’s eyes, the feeling’s mutual.

“What?” Derek blushes under Stiles’ evaluating gaze, yet he refuses to look away. Stiles leans back into the car and captures Derek’s lips with his own. The awkward angle is causing the arm rest to dig into Stiles’ back and his leg is leaning uncomfortably against the doorframe, but Stiles wouldn’t change anything about this moment. The feeling of Derek’s slightly chapped lips on his makes Stiles’ world spin. Kissing Derek is like a drug, and Stiles is addicted. 

The couple breaks apart and Stiles whispers a quiet “I love you” letting his breath ghost over Derek’s lips. Stiles quickly readjusts himself and exits the Camaro, shutting the door before Derek can regain his composure. 

Stiles lets the dull chatter of the police station wash over him as he enters, greeting the receptionist as he passes by. He makes a beeline toward his father’s office, thanking the gods that the room is empty… for now. He has no idea how much time he has, but he’s hoping to get in and out in under ten minutes to avoid talking with his father. The Sheriff will just ask a bunch of questions that Stiles doesn’t have the answers to. Besides, what Stiles is doing isn’t  _ exactly _ legal. Stiles is a firm believer in the phrase “What you don’t know can’t hurt you”. Until he’s on his dad’s side of the equation. Which, yeah, is probably hypocritical as fuck. He’ll add it to the ever growing list of things he has to work on later.

Stiles closes the door, hearing a soft click as he locks the door behind him. He rushes to the file cabinet sitting to the right of his father’s desk and opens it, thumbing through the files until he finds what he’s looking for. 

“Got it!” He shuts the file cabinet and tucks the file into his shirt, exiting the office and leaving the police station while calling a few quick goodbyes over his shoulder to the officers he recognizes. 

When he steps outside he sees Derek leaning against the Camaro, talking to someone on the phone. Stiles walks up to Derek, taking the file out from under his shirt and showing it to Derek. The wolf gives him a silent nod and finishes his phone call with a quick “Thank you, we’ll be there soon”. 

“Who was that?”

“Mellissa. She’s at the hospital.” Derek tucks his phone into his back pocket and straightens out, looking Stiles in the eye seriously. 

“Well, what’s going on?” Stiles furrows his brows, leaning forward in nervous anticipation.

“They’ve found a survivor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have been following this story! As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!  
> Much Love,  
> Raven_Grey1469


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

When Stiles and Derek enter Beacon Hills hospital, Melissa McCall is waiting for them. When she spots them she strides purposefully across the room to meet them, turning on her heels and guiding Stiles and Derek through the hospital once she reaches them. 

“So there’s a survivor?” Derek sounds hopeful, his question coming out as more of a plea than anything else. Melissa nods.

“His name is Aaron Conners. He was brought in late last night, but I didn’t make the connection until about an hour ago. He’s pretty shaken up, so I don’t know how much you’ll be able to get out of him.” The trio arrives at their destination, stopping in front of a pristine, white door. Stiles and Derek move to enter, only to be stopped by Melissa’s body blocking their path. “Oh, there’s one more thing. We’ve found a strange anomaly in his blood work. We haven’t been able to identify it yet, but it seems to be attacking his cells at an exponential rate.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Stiles questions, although he already has his suspicions about what the answer will be.

“This means-” Melissa cuts herself off as a nurse passes by. The young woman smiles and waves, and Melissa kindly reciprocates the gesture before returning to the conversation. Her next words are presented in a hushed tone. “This means that, if this…  _ thing _ continues destroying his cells, every major system in his body will systematically shut down. If you don’t find something to cure him, and this thing is allowed to continue at this pace, he’ll be dead by tomorrow.”

Both Stiles and Derek recoil in shock, the new information emphasizing the gravity of their current situation. ‘Whatever this creature is, it has the potential to inflict major, widespread damage to Beacon Hills. We need to catch this thing as soon as possible, or the consequences…’ Stiles' thoughts trail off, his mind refusing to envision the horror that this creature could wreak on his home.

“We don’t have enough information. No, there’s nothing we can do for him now. If he’s not going to be alive in twenty-four hours, then we don’t have much time. Visitation only lasts for a few more hours, so we need to talk with him now; We may not get another chance before he dies.” Derek, currently playing the part of the logical voice of reason, looks at Melissa expectantly, silently asking for her to move aside.

An expression of shock immediately paints its way across Melissa’s features. “What are you saying? You’re not even going to  _ try  _ to help him!?” Melissa’s hushed tone from earlier has completely disappeared, and Stiles is finding it difficult to resist the urge to whither. From the looks of it, Derek isn’t faring any better than he is. No one can withstand the power of “The Angry Mom Voice” for long.

Derek thinks for a moment before irritation bleeds into his tone and demeanor. “I already told you, _there’s_ _nothing we can do for him_ , you ha-”

“Derek Hale, there is no way in hell I am going to let you go in there and tell this man that he is inevitably going to die. Believe it or not, there are some situations that call for these things called  _ emotions _ and  _ empathy _ . So you can take your self-righteous bullshit and shove it up your-”

“He’s right.” Stiles’ interjection, though softly spoken, brings Mellissa’s tirade to a screeching halt, her head whipping around to look at the dark-haired teen in disbelief. 

“Stiles, what? I- Surely you don’t agree with him, he’s-”

“-Right, Melissa… He’s right.” 

As much as it hurts Stiles to say it, Derek’s logic is sound. But that pain is nothing compared to what he feels as he sees the look of betrayal she sends his way. Melissa McCall has always been there for him, especially when his mom passed away and his dad started falling apart. She’s like a mother to him, caring and protective, so seeing her look at him like this is practically debilitating. Stiles fights to suppress the feeling of his stomach dropping out and the pulsating ache in his chest. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, ignoring the pressure in his head that seems to throb in time with his racing heart.

“I’m sorry, Melissa, but  _ he’s right _ . We have  _ no idea _ what this thing is or why it’s doing this. We’re not even sure if there’s a cure for whatever it did to that man in there. I’m not saying that we should disregard the value of this man’s life, but we have to face the facts.” Stiles’ limbs are aberrantly still, almost unnaturally so, all traces of his usual flailing and hyperactivity gone. “We can’t save everyone… I know that better than pretty much anybody.”

For a while, Melissa says nothing. She simply stares at Stiles, her eyes searching his. Eventually, she finds what she’s looking for, or rather, what she hoped she  _ wouldn’t _ find, deep within Stiles’ whiskey colored irises. 

“You’ve changed, Stiles…” She takes a step back and deflates, despondency creeping into her gaze. “And I don’t think I like what I see.” 

Stiles perceptibly recoils, her unexpected words piercing through every defense he’s constructed to protect himself, coming to rest at the very core of his being. The pressure in his head mounts and the sounds of the hospital muffle, fading into the background. 

The lights flicker. 

Suddenly, Stiles feels a desperate tugging sensation. At the moment, he can’t identify it, although he knows it to be familiar. The tugging continues, and with each pull it becomes more familiar, more intimate; _It feels_ _right_.

‘ _ Derek. _ ..’

Stiles’ world snaps back into focus so abruptly, it makes his head spin wildly. His hearing returns to normal and the intense pressure dissipates just as quickly as it came. The lights around them have returned to normal.

The first thing Stiles notices is that Melissa is no longer here. ‘I really hope Derek didn’t go all growly on her, she doesn’t deserve it. And besides, she wasn’t wrong.’ Stiles quickly realizes that his thoughts are about to pass over the line between awkwardly funny and legitimately depressing. Needless to say, Stiles shuts that down immediately. ‘No! Bad, Stiles. If you want to go there, you’re going to have to schedule an appointment just like  _ everybody else _ .’ 

The second thing that registers in Stiles’ brain is that Derek is standing in front of him with his hands firmly clasping Stiles’ forearms. 

Stiles has to admit, it took him  _ way _ too long to come to this realization. But hey, he’s going through something. As such, he’s been granted three all-encompassing free passes. And, just in case you’re not a math genius like  _ he _ is, he still has two left. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek is worriedly checking Stiles from every angle, attempting to figure out what happened. 

“Did I just travel to another dimension?”

“...Yeah, you’re fine. But we  _ will _ be talking later.” Derek gives him an unsympathetic smile before patting Stiles on the cheek lightly, still wary of too much PDA. It’s almost as if he expects Stiles’ father to appear out of thin air, guns blazing. “Come on; Melissa opened the door for us before she left.”

“Okay. Oh, and by the way,  _ we  _ will be talking later as well.” Stiles mocks, only partially joking. If Derek really did make Melissa run off, then they were going to have another “Don’t scare the human, humans are fragile” conversation. Those are always fun.

When they enter the room, the man laying on the bed perks up, his gaze slightly frantic before he realizes that the people who have entered the room aren’t a threat to him. 

“Mr. Conners?” Stiles asks. The man nods.

“Just call me Aaron.” 

“Of course; We need to ask you a few questions about what happened to you. Is that okay?”

Aaron’s eyes open wide, quickly taking on a panicked look, and his jaw clenches. “I- Yes, that will be fine.” He responds tightly.

This time, Derek addresses Aaron. “Do you know what attacked you last night?”

Aaron takes a shaky breath, fighting to stay calm. Stiles honestly feels bad for making him relive this experience, but there are lives at stake so he pushes the feeling aside. 

“No, I don’t; All I know is that one minute it looked like my dead wife, and the next I’m on the ground with that beast staring down at me. It clawed at me; I think I passed out pretty soon after that because I don’t really remember anything after that, other than waking up this morning in the hospital, of course.”

Aaron’s cohearence surprises Stiles. From the way Melissa was talking, he thought they’d be speaking to someone whose thoughts are scattered and incomprehensible. Instead, he is met with analytical clarity.

Suddenly Stiles realized something.

"Wait, did you just say that it looked like your dead wife?"

"Yes, why? Is that important?"

A look of astounded realization crosses Stiles' features.

"Stiles, what is it?" Derek asks.

Stiles quickly turns to Derek, giddy with excitement. Suddenly his facial expression turns from excitement to one of determination.

"I know what we're looking for."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome and encouraged!  
> Much Love,   
> Raven_Grey1469

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story isn't going to have a set update schedule because of the other story I'm writing. It is more of a side project for now, but I will make an effort to keep up with it. Furthermore, I am ATTEMPTING to add in a few Polish phrases, please forgive me if I get the translations wrong. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. I hope you enjoy!


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